


Control

by Conxus



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe - One Shot (Music Video), Alternate Universe - Skydive (Music Video), It's kind of a mix between One Shot and Skydive so Jongup isn't super heartless, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conxus/pseuds/Conxus
Summary: They both couldn't stop wanting and that desire was what ruined everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic doesn't make sense if you haven't seen the two B.A.P MVs (Oneshot and Skydive)
> 
> Also, inspiration for this came from Skydive (surprise, surprise) and 1004 along with this [ post ](http://conxus.tumblr.com/post/152854161859/daefsoul-be-careful-of-who-you-trust-the-devil).
> 
> Edit: I fixed up the beginning because I read it over and hated it

 

There was a specific amount of control that everyone had over their lives. For Zelo, the most obvious ones were his thoughts, his actions, and his emotions. These were things he controlled, so he had no one else to blame when he was caught alone with the cash.

His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he straightened, his hand jerking away from the bags they had brought in. In the tense silence, Zelo waited for him to say something—anything—but it didn’t come, the hard lines of Jongup’s face falling away to show an angel-like smile.

He was too relieved to feel the chill that went down his spine.

A nervous smile cracked over Zelo’s mouth in reply and then he was scratching the back of his head, sheepish. “Sorry, I was just—checking.” And he wasn’t lying. He couldn’t lie to Jongup because it always left a bitter taste in his mouth, the guilt in his stomach keeping him up at night and reminding him that _Jongup was the only friend he had, what the hell was he doing?_

Jongup shook his head, shushing him with a finger to his lips. Down the hall Zelo could hear Himchan’s agitated voice on the phone, low and dangerous and angry. He met Jongup’s eyes again and nodded, watching as the hard lines came back, Jongup’s brows drawing together and his mouth twisting down.

It wasn’t that Zelo couldn’t trust anyone else—no, it was more complicated than that. There were specific things that he could trust the members with: He could trust Himchan to know what was best for them as a group. Or Yongguk to know when to stay silent. He could trust Daehyun to be honest, and he could trust Youngjae to _understand money_ the same way he did. When no one else did.

But he couldn’t trust Himchan’s intentions or Yongguk’s prolonged silences. He couldn’t trust Daehyun with his life or Youngjae with their cash.

_Not that he could say anything, but._

He could trust Jongup—they had been friends for too long. And it didn’t matter that he smiled less now, or that he was getting more rebellious—so much that Zelo overheard Himchan talking to Yongguk in frustration. It didn’t matter. Jongup was still Jongup and Zelo would still trust him with everything.

 

\--

 

It was so easy—too, too easy—to slip away. They didn’t follow him, didn’t deem him a threat, still laughed at him when he was too deep in thought and bumped into things. Sure, he wasn’t really smart, but what were they now? _Idiots_ , a voice inside his head hissed and he grinned widely, shadows covering his eyes.

Hunched in his seat with his hood pulled low, he could see Daehyun trying to pick up another chick, a flirtatious smile on his face as he leaned forward. He could hear that obnoxious laugh ringing in his head, echoing, and he wondered how long it would be until he heard it again. Tonight was going to change everything.

A picture of Zelo’s smile popped up and then the memory expanded, filling in every corner of his mind with the familiar couches by the wall and the poorly lit pool table in the middle of the room. Laughter was loud then too, Himchan’s mixing with Daehyun’s and Youngjae’s. Yongguk was chuckling to himself on the couch, the smile making his eyes shine and making him seem years younger. He could see as Yongguk met Himchan’s eyes over the table before falling into another round of laughter, his hand loosely clutching his stomach. Jongup could hear himself laughing along too as he kicked the white cue ball back with the toe of his boot.

Leaders—Himchan and Yongguk. Fearless, loyal, strict. Commanding. _Powerful_.

Jongup steeled himself and tucked the memory away. There was only one thing he wanted now, and one silly memory wasn’t going to stop him.

Daehyun stood up and headed to the restroom, and Jongup stood up too, the black envelope in his hand. It crinkled before he dropped it on the counter, no one looking twice as he slipped out of the bar with the cold weight of his gun touching the skin at his waist.

 

\--

 

Junhong—no, Zelo—had never had an interest in money. Nothing unusual, at least. Just enough to get by, just enough for a few luxuries, just enough to live comfortably. At some point, they all blurred together until there was never _enough_ —he needed more to get the newest phone, and then that ring he’d been eyeing. And why not that other earring while he was at it? There were so many things in the world that he could own—that he wanted to own. And honestly, what was there to stop him? At the rate they were going, they could eventually own their own little world.

Money became addicting, and God _he was addicted_ , the smell enough to make his heart pound and his blood rush.

It was in this state that Jongup found him, lying in a pile of money he had spilled onto the floor, his smile lazy and crazed, and happy. Zelo didn’t look too hard, recognizing his friend by his stance, the curve of his shoulders, and the way he hunched just slightly, his feet more than a few inches apart. “Hey,” he greeted, but his voice was all slurred and he was distracted by the smell of fresh bills by his nose.

Zelo didn’t know if it was possible to get high off of bills, but that would explain a lot.

Jongup didn’t reply, shifting his weight from one foot to another. It was clear to see since Zelo was lying on the floor, but he expended a bit more energy and flicked his eyes up. Jongup was different, still hard lines and steely eyes and clenched hands. Zelo reached up slowly, fingers just barely brushing against the tattoos on Jongup’s knuckles before Jongup jerked back, eyes blinking hard. Zelo watched in surprise, arm still up, still frozen over the spot Jongup had been standing in before.

Jongup had always been spacey, but this had never happened before.

“Sorry.” With a soft voice and an eye smile sweet enough to summon flowers from the floor, Jongup finally grinned at him, teeth peeking behind his lips.

“Your mind travels to a lot of places,” Zelo found himself saying, and Jongup rewarded him with another soft laugh. He took that as his cue to sit up, bills falling from his hair and landing by his hand. “What were you thinking about?”

Jongup tensed, and for one second Zelo thought he had said something wrong. But then Jongup shrugged—a fluid motion—and Zelo let go of the breath he didn’t remember holding. “I don’t know,” he answered and Zelo only grinned lopsidedly.

“That’s just like you, y’know?” He lay back down and closed his eyes, bathing in the warm glow inside his chest. Jongup was still Jongup so Zelo was fine. “You should rest or something.”

“Yeah,” he could hear Jongup murmur, the material of his clothes rustling as he moved away, presumably towards his room. “Yeah, you’re right.”

 

\--

 

It got easier to pretend, easier to shoot, and easier to _want_. He _wanted_ to lead, he _wanted_ power, he _wanted more_. But the easier those became, the harder he found it to smile, to laugh, or to _just be happy_. He told himself that it was because he still wasn’t a leader, he still didn’t have power, and that he still didn’t know what he wanted after everything.

All he knew was that he _wanted_.

The sound of Yongguk playing with his lighter echoed in his head, every click sounding ten times louder and ten times more invasive.

 _It’s nothing personal_ , he remembered himself saying hours before, but the scream that attacked his head now was fresh, filling in every crevice and leaving no room for his thoughts. It was still going when he met Daehyun’s eyes for a second and held it for another half—before Daehyun was looking elsewhere, frantic and distrusting of everything and everyone.

_Perfect, perfect._

Jongup congratulated himself as the screams turned into sobs loud enough to drown him, and he would have, but he had gotten far too good at swimming.

He felt so giddy, something akin to happiness fluttering in his chest, swelling it. He could see how Daehyun looked at their gang—their _family_ —without an ounce of trust in his eyes and he wanted to laugh. To laugh and laugh and laugh because this was so easy, too easy. Years of trust and love, fostered and nurtured, going down the drain. What good was loyalty to Yongguk now, despite him being the one to pick Daehyun up off the streets? What use was Himchan’s protective nagging, full of love and irritation? What use was that easy friendship with Youngjae that was less bickering and more _them_ —something that was just _theirs_? None of this mattered when someone important— _more important than their family_ —was in danger.

Served him right, Jongup thought with a sneer.

Flipping a page in his book, he pretended to read for a while longer, ignoring the eyes that didn’t belong to Daehyun burning a hole in the side of his head.

 

\--

 

Zelo knew everyone had changed; he knew.

So when he confronted Youngjae about the missing cash— _he knew, he knew_ —he should have expected to be bribed. Leaving the scene with his pockets fuller and another few thousands richer, he was fine, he was happy. Himchan wouldn’t miss it—they had so much already, what was a few thousand?

With this, he could buy another motorcycle—he could buy another phone, he could get another laptop. His eyes lit up and he laughed, liking how it echoed in the empty streets.

A sound in an alley caught his attention and he tensed, fingers drawing for his gun just in case. The silence came back, but this time Zelo was too busy to enjoy it, holding his breath and waiting. Only when another forty heartbeats had passed did he slowly relax, fingers loosening from the handle of his gun. He jogged the rest of the way to the main road and then stuffed the gun back into the waistband of his jeans, hiding it under his jacket.

It had felt like so long ago when they still had to fear for their lives, running from every threat that had come bounding their way. It had been such a long time ago since they had all laughed together.

Zelo sighed and peeked at the money in his pockets. Maybe he could spend it on the other members this time. Maybe then they could laugh together like they used to, and not just in groups of less than three.

He wondered if a new trinket for Jongup would make him smile again.

Zelo huffed and started to head home.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

 

\--

 

Jongup dreamed of a world where they were still as close as ever, their hideout a little shabbier and their clothes a little dirtier, but their smiles brighter. Nothing could get in between them—not an argument, not a person, not a thing. Yongguk was the leader here, but he shouldered the responsibility well, took care of them well, loved them well.

It was peaceful, or as peaceful as it could get in a gang, and they were happy.

But then things started to go wrong.

Youngjae was gone—kidnapped for ransom—and then Daehyun was uncontrollable, inconsolable, demanding that Yongguk _do something before he did it himself_.

They did everything, everything they could. Jongup could feel it even in his dream state—or maybe he could only feel it _because_ he was still in his dream state. He felt the anger and the loss; he could almost see the gaping hole in each of their chests, the Youngjae shaped hole that only grew bigger by the hour.

There were plans for a high scale robbery on the table, plans that they put into action despite the risks. It wasn’t done perfectly, with bumps along the road that could’ve ruined them, ruined everything, but it was done. The ransom amount was stuffed neatly into a suitcase and they were going—going to get Youngjae back, their family back.

But things went wrong here too.

An exchange of money. A nod. A turned back, and then a smirk.

Youngjae fell into Yongguk’s arms with a smile that looked odd on his face, but everyone was too relieved to notice, too happy—far, far too happy.

The SWAT swarmed in through the stairways, blocking off all entrances, shields up high and guns steady, and Youngjae flashed them a badge and another smile.

Jongup woke from that dream—no, nightmare—with sweat cooling on his back. Even in his dreams, he couldn’t live happily with them. The grief kicked in before he could prepare himself, and he shook, remembering the feeling he had after seeing Youngjae’s cold smile.

He ended up writing a different ending for that dream, a dream where Youngjae was shot just before he reached Yongguk’s outstretched arms, a dream where they all died helplessly to avenge him, and it was all for nothing.

Yet, they all died loving each other, still loving each other.

The final nail was in the coffin—family or not, one of them was going to end up betraying the group, and Jongup thought to himself, it might as well be him.

 

\--

 

Zelo tried to think of what Jongup would have wanted. He went past recent conversations, back, all the way back to when they were still small, huddled up in second hand jackets and thin scarves. They were children then, still naïve despite the deep hatred for people who had it easier, who were happier.

They talked about Pokémon, about whether or not elevators went up in other countries too. They talked about flowers, and they talked about nothing at all, comfortable to sit in silence staring up at the sky.

There wasn’t time for that anymore; everyone was busy, too busy, too weighed down by reality and Zelo missed it when things were simpler.

His feet slowed to a stop, and he shook his head aggressively. He was happy now, too—there wasn’t anything he couldn’t have. He didn’t have to quiet his growling stomach with nothing but words now because things were good—better, even.

Jongup never spent time in his own room anymore, but Zelo didn’t have a choice. He didn’t know where else to find him, and he almost felt pathetic.

The box he gripped in his hand suddenly felt like nothing—it was meaningless. Jongup wouldn’t know who it was from unless Zelo wrote a note, and wasn’t that just the worst thing? He felt like he was no different from anyone else, because this watch—this silver watch with its damn blue sapphires that cost him too much—was too generic for Jongup to even begin guessing.

Zelo stalked back towards his room and chucked the box into one of his drawers. Picking up his phone, he started looking all over again, but this time, he shifted his perspective and asked himself, _what would Jongup want?_

 

\--

 

It had been days since he’d been to his room, but even then he didn’t expect to come back to it smelling like someone had personally died in his bed.

Jongup stood by his door and stared at the wilting sunflowers covering every inch of his floor, making it seem more like a field than a room. They were as tall as he was, and he had the faint feeling of being young again, talking to Junhong about everything and nothing under the sun.

Nudging the stalks aside and ignoring the leaves and petals as they dropped to the floor, he finally made it to his bed and flopped down, staring up at the ceiling. The edge of his vision was filled with drooping sunflowers, golden yellows dyed brown and black with neglect. Reaching out, he touched the flower closest to him and flicked his eyes to the door.

Only one person would have done something so ridiculous—only one person would remember him saying _I want to fill a room with sunflowers one day, just because_. Just because sunflowers were bright and Zelo’s smile was bright too, especially when his hair had been bleached blond in the spirit of teen rebellion. Because maybe if he had a room full of sunflowers, he could pretend he had a room full of Zelo.

Jongup let his arm drop, let it hang off the edge of the bed and stared at the decayed flowers drooping all around him. No, he thought, it wasn’t like having a room full of Zelo at all.

Like the flowers, it was too late for him to even consider.

 

\--

 

Zelo finally saw him at the important meeting Himchan had called them all for.

He could barely pay attention, nodding now and then before his eyes flicked back to Jongup’s face. So far, Jongup hadn’t given any indication that he’d seen Zelo’s present—the present Zelo jokingly promised to give, back when they were dumb teenagers looking for a better life to live.

“At eleven,” Himchan was saying, but Zelo was mesmerized by the way Jongup smiled at their leader, all sharp edges and teeth. With Jongup’s eyes angled and dark, it was hard to find the angel Zelo was more familiar with seeing. Black eyes slowly slid over to him, and Zelo held his breath.

It was hard to believe Jongup was looking at him when he couldn’t find a trace of Jongup anywhere in that body.

And then for the first time he could remember—for just a second—Zelo felt fear crawling over him _because_ of Jongup.

The unexpected feeling choked him as his fingers curled around his assault rifle, his knuckles going white as he clutched it like a lifeline. The guilt that came afterwards hit him even harder, and by instinct he tried to breathe and swallow at the same time.

As expected, the cough that exploded from his throat was loud enough for Himchan to pause, lips thinning. Zelo ducked his head, fingers cold, and waited until he could hear Himchan speaking again before he quickly glanced back up.

That was weird—he was weird for even thinking it. Jongup would never hurt him—them. They were family despite the growing rift, and Jongup would never, but maybe Daehyun would. The thought had his eyes darting in Daehyun’s direction, and what he saw was enough for him to believe it. Daehyun was still sitting tensely, his eyes glazed over before suddenly narrowing at all of the members in turn. His muscles were taut as if he was waiting to spring to his feet—waiting for something to happen.

A chill went down his spine and Zelo jerked up straight to stop himself from shivering.

This was a slippery slope and he wouldn’t—he _couldn’t_ —start this. Not when it was so easy to fall.

It was so tempting to pretend he never saw the expression on Jongup’s face. It was tempting to blame it on the harsh lights, or the drinks. But Zelo forced himself to lift his head higher, to _make sure_ he wasn’t just seeing things. Hoping and praying with his nails digging into his palm, he finally looked up. Jongup met his eyes as if he had been waiting, and Zelo couldn’t find the harsh edges anywhere, no matter how long he looked.

The sigh of relief that slipped past his lips was quiet, but to him, it was the most deafening sound in the entire room.

 

\--

 

He should have expected Daehyun to fail. Lips curling, he reminded himself that if he wanted a job done, he’d have to do it himself. Speaking of Daehyun, he was still missing and it was eleven. Jongup happened to glance very casually at Himchan’s face, looking away before the grin spilled over his lips.

The scene was set, the call had been made, and now only the actors needed to arrive.

Zelo walked beside him, talking animatedly to Yongguk over Jongup’s head in a hushed voice. He tried not to concentrate on the mindless chatter, trying to block out the _later’s_ and _after’s_ that rolled off Zelo’s tongue. Without warning, Zelo laughed and then leaned closer to Jongup, eyes expectant and bright. “What do you think?” he asked, and Jongup had to fight against the part of his mind that said he thought Zelo needed a bulletproof vest too.

Jongup stared blankly and Zelo cracked another smile. “About going to play billiards after this?” he clarified, slinging an arm over Jongup’s shoulders.

He—he had to smile.

“Sure,” Jongup managed to mutter. His face felt stiff, and he only hoped that it was too dark for Zelo to see him properly. “After this.”

“It’s a promise!” Zelo grinned before patting him on the arm. As they drew closer to the scene—the final scene, the last act—Zelo finally let go. The warmth that he brought was suddenly gone too, and Jongup wasn’t so sure about what he wanted anymore.

There was a time when Jongup would have said that he never wanted Zelo to change.

That boyish innocence and the pure unaltered way he laughed. The way he ducked his head when he was being lectured—when they were being lectured together—and the way he looked away when he was embarrassed. These were things that had barely changed, but Jongup knew better. These things were only superficial.

Jongup had seen the way Zelo handled guns—effortlessly, easily, the same way he smiled. He’d seen the way he looked at money—the way his eyes glazed over and his mouth stretched up into a crazed grin without him even knowing. And it was with these two facts that Jongup knew Zelo had changed; he was stuck wanting and wanting _and wanting_ —just like him, but _not_ like him.

Jongup knew that Zelo was aware everyone had changed, but it was funny Zelo didn't realize himself changing along with them. They were different now. They couldn’t coexist the same way—not anymore—no matter how much they wanted to.

“Guard up,” Himchan ordered, and everyone was instantly more alert, giving way to tense silence. There wouldn’t be another chance to _talk_ to Zelo now, but Jongup still needed to—

No. There was nothing more he could say.

He let Zelo lead the group inside, watching as Yongguk followed closely. Stepping in after them, he let his mind wander, memorizing the way they worked like a well-oiled machine. In the empty lot, their footsteps echoed, and Jongup couldn’t help but think that each step sounded like the seconds ticking on the clock.

They were together, but this would be the last time.

Zelo paused, hesitating when the lot stayed quiet. “It’s—”

The ambush came alive, cutting him off. They were surrounded quickly and efficiently, and Jongup had been too slow to grab his gun, his hands abnormally empty and raised up in submission. And then there was Daehyun—he was still missing, Jongup griped inside his head, and at this rate his head could be blown off without the shooters even trying.

He could see Himchan slowly lowering his gun, and Jongup screamed at him inside his head—no, no, _no, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen._

The sound of rapid footsteps coming closer made him look up, and he had to fight down the glee he felt when he saw Daehyun’s stunned face by the exit. Faster than Jongup gave him credit for, Daehyun pulled out his gun, but it was Youngjae who threw the first and only dart, opening the curtains for their last scene.

The gunshots were deafening—loud and explosive and never ending—but they were holding their own, covering each other’s blind spots without a second thought. This was the only time Jongup felt like he belonged with them, when they were fighting and killing, and maybe, maybe, that was where he went wrong.

He could hear rather than see everyone else, Youngjae breathing heavily beside him as they crouched behind discarded crates. He could hear Himchan’s gasp as he got shot, and then Daehyun’s yell as he realized what had happened. He managed to catch a glimpse of Himchan going down permanently, another five rounds in his body. And Daehyun—emotional, loud, Daehyun—followed him to the floor, probably filled with guilt.

Distracted—damn, he had gotten distracted—Jongup turned around to find himself cornered. He fired as soon as he could, teeth clenched and praying they weren’t aiming for his head. He was rewarded with pain blooming in his chest, but he had managed to take one down, eyes slowly closing when he was sure Youngjae had gotten the other one.

Being cradled by someone who was drowning in grief twisted Jongup’s stomach. He didn’t deserve this and he didn’t—

A loud bang went off nearby, and Jongup forced himself to stay still when he felt Youngjae slump forward, the arms around him now limp and heavy.

The seconds dragged by as he tried not to think about Zelo. He could hear Yongguk fall only because Zelo shouted desperately, sounding like he was near tears because everyone else was gone. Guilt stabbed Jongup hard, but he had to keep still, keep natural, or else everything he did would have been for nothing.

A few more shots, and then… silence.

Jongup waited a few more seconds before he sat up, flinging Youngjae’s arm away as if it had burned him. Gritting his teeth, he stood up on shaky legs and hoped the bastard that shot him was fucking dead. From here he could still see that Daehyun was alive, and fuck, couldn’t Daehyun do anything right? Jongup had wanted everything to end on a good note—a good note being that they still cared for each other, deep, deep down.

After helping Daehyun fix his own mistake, Jongup stood back up and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly weary. It had been a long day, but he was done. The power was finally in his grasp, but everything was numb. He turned, and surveyed the area, eyes hesitating when he saw something that looked like Zelo’s long limbs a few feet away from what he assumed was Yongguk. His feet took him closer, and when he was finally just inches from the pool of blood, he stopped.

The silence was suddenly suffocating.

“Zelo?” he said, ignoring how his voice interrupted the silence, how it didn’t fit. Jongup didn’t know what he wanted, but he always knew that when it came to Zelo, he had wanted everything. It was too late, it had always been too late, because the moment he fell in love with the smell of blood and the rush of being in _control_ , he had been walking down a different path.

He almost hated Himchan for giving him a chance—too many chances.

With blood dripping onto the floor from his mouth, from the holes in his body, Zelo was dead. Jongup couldn’t believe it. He—he was the one that made this possible.

His knees went weak and he toppled onto the floor hard, hard enough to bruise his skin. He suddenly felt too weak, and it had nothing to do with the sting of bullets. “ _Junhong?_ ” he tried again, straining to ignore the way his voice was too desperate, how the last syllable of Junhong’s name cracked in his throat. He reached out for Junhong’s face with a shaking hand, flinching when he felt the skin slowly losing its warmth. “Wake up,” he whispered despite it being against everything he had worked for. Because if he woke up, Jongup didn’t know if he could kill him again.

Exhaling shakily, he nudged Junhong onto his back and stared at the blood staining his lips. This was wrong, all wrong, it didn’t look right, this wasn’t _right_. His hands were still shaking when Jongup wiped Junhong’s blood away with his thumb, the stubborn red looking like an ugly stain on Junhong’s too white skin.

A deep sense of loss punched him in the stomach and Jongup gulped for air. “I…” He had lied to himself—there was still so much he wanted to say to Junhong, there would never be any _last words_ he could say to end things cleanly. “I liked the sunflowers,” he managed to get out, Junhong’s face cradled in between his hands. “Thanks,” he said with the smile he reserved just for Junhong on his face—he deserved that much from Jongup, at least.

Pressing his forehead against Junhong’s, Jongup squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to inhale the smell of Junhong’s blood in too deeply. He already felt like he was going to be sick. “Let’s play billiards next time,” he whispered as he tried to stop his himself from shaking. “In our next life.”

When he straightened, he could see his own tears sliding off of Junhong’s face, mixing with the blood. Jongup slowly let go, his hands now steady and as cold as Junhong’s skin. When he stood up, there was no grief in his expression. The sharp angles were back, the dark eyes, and the downturned corners of his mouth. Without a word, he snatched a gun off the floor and stalked off to make sure _everyone_ in this lot was dead.

And when he was done—when every squirming body was as still as Junhong’s—Jongup walked out without once looking back.

At the end of it all, 'Moon Jongup' had died too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunflowers, he found, could survive almost anything. Even when they were half-dead and dry, watering them could bring them back to life. Even when they didn’t have any direct sunlight, and even when they only had shadows for company.

It was too bad he found out too late.


End file.
